Time flew by in the midst of fulfilling days, and before they knew it, the twelfth lunar month had arrived.
Heaven seemed to have thrown a tantrum, as goose-feather snow fell for three days and three nights without pause. Fierce winds swept the snowflakes, blanketing every earthen house in Hongqi Brigade under a thick layer. The snow piled up to half a person’s height, making it impossible to even find the paths when stepping outside.
The heavy snow sealed off the mountains.
The village fell into complete silence. Every household huddled indoors to endure the winter, and even the dogs stopped barking.
Inside the east wing of the Su family home.
Su Nianqiu sat on the warm, heated brick bed, wearing a thick, brand-new cotton-padded jacket. The jacket had been hand-sewn by Li Xiulan using the white cotton and fine cotton cloth she had bought—lightweight yet warm.
Her pregnant belly was already showing, now over five months along. Because she wore loose-fitting cotton clothes and had a naturally slender figure, it wasn’t too conspicuous unless one looked closely.
With a thought, she entered the Spatial Dimension.
Inside the Spatial Dimension, it was as warm as spring. On the half-acre of black soil, rice had already been harvested four full times. The first floor of the bamboo house was piled with over thirty heavy sacks of rice grains, alongside more than a dozen baskets of fresh, crisp cabbages, radishes, potatoes, and even a small patch of tomatoes laden with bright red fruit.
The jar of medicinal wine infused with ginseng rootlets still emitted a rich aroma. Before the snow began, she had made another trip to town and sold the ginseng rootlets to Old Zhou. In return, she received eight hundred yuan and a large stack of cloth and meat ration coupons.
With this security and the continuous output from the Spatial Dimension, the Su family was living exceptionally comfortably this winter.
Exiting the Spatial Dimension, Su Nianqiu pushed open her door.
The kitchen was filled with steam. Li Xiulan was wielding a large cleaver, chopping meat filling on the cutting board.
The rhythmic “thump-thump-thump” echoed briskly.
On the board lay a large piece of pork with a good mix of fat and lean meat, next to a basin of chopped cabbage. Li Xiulan poured some sesame oil into the meat filling, sprinkled in minced scallions and ginger, and stirred vigorously in one direction with chopsticks to develop the texture.
“Mom, are you making buns?” Su Nianqiu walked over and sniffed the air.
“This weather is bitterly cold. Your dad went to the backyard to shovel snow, and that kind of labor makes him hungry easily. I’ve prepared a basin of white flour dough—today we’ll make big meat buns and cook a pot of cornmeal porridge,” Li Xiulan said with a smile, her hands never stopping.
The fire in the stove burned brightly. A large steamer basket sat atop the iron wok, and the water was already boiling.
Su Nianqiu washed her hands, took the rolling pin, and helped roll out the dough wrappers.
The white dough wrappers were rolled thicker in the center and thinner around the edges. She scooped a generous portion of oil-rich meat filling onto each, and with nimble fingers, shaped them into large buns with evenly spaced pleats.
Half an hour later, two large trays of buns were placed in the steamer.
Steam rose, carrying the rich aroma of meat and dough, drifting out through the kitchen chimney. Swept by the cold wind, the scent traveled especially far in this hungry, freezing village.
Next door, in Wang Chunhua’s house.
The room was as cold as an ice cellar. Only a few embers glowed in the stove, with no proper firewood to speak of.
Wang Chunhua huddled under a tattered quilt, sitting on the icy brick bed. Her husband, Su Jianjun, crouched in a corner, while their two half-grown sons cried from hunger.
“What are you crying for? Sounding like a funeral dirge!” Wang Chunhua snapped irritably.
During the autumn harvest grain distribution, Su Jianjun had found it troublesome and sold part of their allocated coarse grains to a black-market dealer in town for money, which he used to buy several bottles of cheap liquor and two packs of cigarettes. They had thought they could scrape through the winter, but no one expected such heavy snow this year. With the roads sealed, even money couldn’t buy food.
Now, even their sweet potato flour was nearly gone. Yesterday, the family of four had only had two meals of watery, flavorless broth.
A gust of wind blew, carrying the aroma of meat from the Su family’s yard next door through the broken window.
Su Jianjun sniffed the air, his eyes turning green with envy.
“White flour… meat filling… they’re steaming big meat buns!” Su Jianjun swallowed a large mouthful of saliva.
Wang Chunhua smelled it too. The fragrance seemed to drill straight into her head, making her stomach churn with acid.
“That damned Su Jianguo!” Wang Chunhua cursed. “Being a brigade leader, his family has more food than they can eat! They’re trying to make us die of envy!”
“Mom, I’m hungry. I want to eat meat buns,” her youngest son wailed, tugging at Wang Chunhua’s sleeve.
Wang Chunhua gritted her teeth, threw off the tattered quilt, and got out of bed.
“Come! Follow me to your uncle’s house! We’re all family. How can they eat and drink so well while we starve? Even if we have to snatch them, we’re getting some buns today!”
Meanwhile, in the Su family’s kitchen.
Li Xiulan lifted the lid of the steamer. Plump, fluffy meat buns were packed tightly in the steaming basket, hot air rushing toward her face.
Su Jianguo had just finished sweeping the snow and entered, brushing off the snowflakes from his clothes.
“So fragrant! Xiulan, your skills are unmatched.” Su Jianguo washed his hands, grabbed a bun directly, and took a big bite despite the heat. Oil dripped from his mouth, the aroma of meat filling the air.
Su Nianqiu held a bowl with a bun inside. She took a small bite—the dough was chewy, and the meat filling was delicious.
Just then, a slight flutter came from her belly.
It felt like a small fish had blown a bubble inside, followed by a tiny bulge on her belly that quickly slid away.
Su Nianqiu froze.
“Qiu’er, what’s wrong? Did it burn you?” Li Xiulan asked anxiously.
“No,” Su Nianqiu put down her chopsticks, placed a hand on her belly, and a smile appeared in her eyes. “Mom, he kicked me.”
Li Xiulan and Su Jianguo immediately gathered around.
“He really moved? Oh, this little one is strong! He’s a sturdy child!” Li Xiulan was overjoyed, unable to close her mouth.
Su Jianguo rubbed his hands together, his dark red face beaming with a simple smile. “Of course. Our family has never shortchanged him—how could he not be sturdy? This little one will surely be plump and fair when he’s born.”
As the family of three rejoiced, a chaotic knocking suddenly sounded from outside the courtyard gate.
“Big brother! Sister-in-law! Open the door!” Wang Chunhua’s sharp voice rang out through the wind and snow.
Along with the knocking were the voices of several people.
The smile faded from Su Jianguo’s face. He put down the bun in his hand and picked up the tobacco pipe behind the door.
“Don’t pay them any mind. They’re here because they smelled the food,” Li Xiulan snorted coldly.
“No. If we hide inside, they’ll break the door down,” Su Jianguo pushed open the main room door and walked through the wind and snow to the courtyard gate.
He pulled out the latch and opened the gate.
Outside stood not only Wang Chunhua and Su Jianjun but also Aunt Zhang from next door and a few villagers who usually loved taking advantage. They huddled against the cold, but their eyes were fixed on the steam rising from the Su family’s kitchen.